


Adulting 101

by shealynn88



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Eventual Triad, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, Twincest, dating separately, polyamorous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 03:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20650685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shealynn88/pseuds/shealynn88
Summary: Dean has finally graduated college and is just taking a well earned break before he goes off into the world like a real adult.  Then he meets Jimmy Novak, and his best laid plans gang the fuck agley.They end up making out in the parking lot.  The punk’s name is Jimmy, and he giggles like an eight-year-old, and Dean sort of loves it.It’s pure somehow, and the night is clear, and the air is just getting heavy with summer, and Dean is the closest he’s ever been to being considered a card-carrying adult, and it all seems pretty perfect and simple.And then it gets complicated.





	Adulting 101

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Three's Company](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20625563) by [Pimento](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pimento/pseuds/Pimento). 

Dean hasn’t played pool for two years. He doesn’t need to hustle - he’s not the kid he was, rustling up the cash for dinner when his dad was AWOL and Sammy was hungry. Nope, he’s a bonafide graduate with a Bachelor’s in Engineering Tech, and maybe it took six years and he only managed a 3.6, but he had to work full time to get himself through and no one’s giving him a hard time about that but him.

It’s time to let go and live a little.

* * *

He’s not hustling the guy. He’s just letting himself fall into the patter, the game. The beers and the grins and the light shit-talk and the smooth stroke of the cue over his fingers, the sure feel of the chalk as it scrapes over the tip. 

His opponent looks like he just came from a Rancid concert. There are studs on his jacket and a hoop in his lip and eyeliner smudged under one eye. He’s gorgeous. He’s got cheekbones forever and those fucking lips...well, if Dean’s going to lose the game, that’s going to be why. Staring at those instead of keeping his eye on the prize. And the prize is winning the game, not winning the guy. The guy who looks like he grinds people under his combat boots for looking at him crooked. Whose mouth is a thin line of concentration as he moves around the table, and then he bends over to take his shot, and Dean’s not looking at his face anymore.

A new song comes on, and it’s not one Dean would typically admit enjoying, but he laughs when he hears the familiar guitar line, and who the fuck cares? It’s not like he’s gonna be a regular here.

The guy stands and turns. “You’re up.” He raises an eyebrow, grinning. “You like this one, huh?”

Dean stiffens, then shrugs. “Yeah, I do. Nostalgic, I guess. Reminds me of screaming in my buddy’s car, bright summer days. Being young.” It’s right at the tip of his tongue. “Who is this? I remember, like, some chick with a hat…”

The punk laughs uproariously and it changes everything about him - his lips part to show teeth and gums, his smile is impossibly wide and joyous. He looks like…_Jesus_, like sunlight and no cares in the world, like everything is all right. “4 Non-Blondes. Can’t go wrong with Linda Perry, man.”

* * *

They end up making out in the parking lot. The punk’s name is Jimmy, and he giggles like an eight-year-old, and Dean sort of loves it.

It’s pure somehow, and the night is clear, and the air is just getting heavy with summer, and Dean is the closest he’s ever been to being considered a card-carrying adult, and it all seems pretty perfect and simple.

* * *

And then it gets complicated.

“This is Cas,” Jimmy tells Dean, smacking his twin on the chest. 

They just came out for coffee, and Jimmy is still all sex hair and raccoon eyes and Dean hasn’t brushed his teeth and he’s suddenly intensely aware of the bite marks that may or may not be peeking out from under yesterday’s shirt.

Dean extends a hand, and tries not to be weird about Jimmy’s best poker face on some other guy. Jimmy’s face, which is staring at him with serious consideration over a crisp white shirt and a billowing trench coat.

* * *

It’s not serious with Jimmy. Not really. They get together and they play pool, and sometimes they fuck and then go out for coffee in the morning. And Dean tries not to think too far ahead because there’s a lot a card-carrying adult can do and he doesn’t want to close any doors just yet, like by tying himself to some punk in Sioux Falls when he could go just about anywhere in the world and get a job and a little apartment and maybe make that ‘something’ of himself he keeps hearing about.

And now there’s Cas. Castiel. Who sits down with them for coffee and adds honey to his mug, and a little salt which he says cuts the bitterness, and Dean’s been bracing himself for his inevitable irritation at this guy who clearly takes himself too seriously. But the irritation never comes because Cas is actually pretty interesting, and Jimmy is obviously really close with him, so there’s that.

* * *

Coffee with Cas happens once and it’s a coincidence, but they keep going back to the same cafe at the same time and it becomes a habit, and Jimmy and Dean talk AC/DC and Led Zeppelin and Metallica and Cas brings up covers by Modern Jukebox and 2 Cellos, and then Cas asks Dean about the potential of SpaceX and then what it means, practically, that quantum entanglement exists, and Jimmy pitches in with questions about how you’d identify an entangled particle. An hour passes, then two, and they’re all leaning in and talking about Star Trek communicators and how having one that attaches to your shirt is so much better than today’s system of losing everything, and Dean hasn’t laughed this much since Sam moved to California.

* * *

And then it goes to hell real fast, because Dean and Jimmy still play pool and fuck sometimes, and he loves it but he finds himself thinking of Cas more and more and that feels like shit. And on Tuesdays and Fridays when Jimmy is busy, Dean distracts himself with building a resume and submitting it across the country to avoid the fact that he doesn’t want to leave, and it’s not just Jimmy anymore, it’s Cas, too, and he’s really, really fucked. And not in the fun way.

* * *

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he finally manages one night as Jimmy pins him against the wall to kiss him. The sound of the jukebox in the background goes hazy. He feels sick. Dizzy. It’s not the beer. It feels like he’s cutting himself open when he says it, and the shock on Jimmy’s face just makes it worse.

He slides down the wall and Jimmy follows him down, looking stunned. “What...I thought we were good, man. I thought we were having fun.”

Dean laughs, a rough sound that breaks a little on the way out. “Fun. Yeah. Shit. My head is...Jimmy, it’s really fucked up. I just can’t anymore.” He’s a little buzzed on three beers, but mostly he’s just completely fucked in the head. His whole rib cage feels a bit like a sucking chest wound. The kind that won’t let you catch your breath, and now he’s choking and _shit_. Crying. Like a fucking child, he’s sort of choking and there are tears, and Jesus fucking Christ, this is not what adults do.

“Dean, please tell me what’s happening,” and Jimmy’s hand are on his face, his thumbs are wiping tears, he’s kissing his cheeks, his temple, stroking his hair, and it’s worse, it’s so much worse with him being kind and sweet and concerned when Dean’s such a damn fuck-up.

“Stop, stop touching me!” Dean pushes him back. “Stop! If you knew, _Jesus_, if you had any idea, you’d kick me where I sit and keep on walking. And you should. You really should. _Fuck_.” He scrubs the tears off his cheeks and glares up where Jimmy is still watching him with something like sympathy or heartbreak. 

The guy just doesn’t fucking get it, and Dean is suddenly furious. Jimmy needs to stop looking at Dean like he’s somehow worth giving a shit about.

Dean shuts down, closes off his face like he’s talking to his father. No emotion, just cold as fuck. _Yes, sir. No, sir._ “Hey, look,” he says coolly. “I don’t know what you think this was with us, but it’s not...that. I’d just as soon fuck your brother. I fantasize about it sometimes. Him. Or you. Both of you. The more the merrier.”

Jimmy’s face changes - brows pull together quizzically and he looks like Cas for one disconcerting second. He opens his mouth once, closes it. Then, oddly, unexpectedly, he smiles in something that looks like relief. And then he starts to giggle.

That stupid kid giggle he makes when they talk about Linda Perry’s hat or when Dean makes fun of Cas’s tie while Jimmy fixes it or that one time Dean admitted that Taylor Swift maybe wasn’t the worst.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Dean asks, grumpy and confused.

“You like him.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Cas. This isn’t about a fantasy. You _like_ him.”

“Did you not hear the part where I told you I don’t really care who I fuck? That this isn’t some warm fuzzy shit, this is making time?”

Jimmy giggles again and then his expression goes abruptly, impossibly _fond_. “Dean,” he breathes. “You’re such a fucking liar.” And then he kisses him, and Dean can’t really make himself resist for more than a few seconds, because kissing Jimmy sets the world back on its axis, and he’s maybe not strong enough to do the right thing, here.

* * *

Cas is at the apartment when they stumble through the door, and he doesn’t live there but he sure does look comfortable standing at the counter with a beer in hand, all casual in a black t-shirt and blue jeans that fit just right and _shit_ is Dean fucked, fucked, fucked in the head.

“Hey, what's going on?” Cas asks when they stumble in, Dean’s hand held firmly in Jimmy’s so he can’t pull away.

Dean’s still wondering what Cas is doing there when Jimmy drags him over and kisses his brother on the mouth before turning to the fridge. 

“Beer?” he asks Dean.

Dean looks between them a few times and nods slowly, parsing. If he were sober, he might go full on mind palace, but he’s not, and the equations are suggesting things he can’t quite get his head around.

Jimmy lets go of his hand long enough to grab two bottles from the fridge, pops the tops off on the counter and then hands one to Dean.

“So,” Jimmy finally says quietly. “Dean. Cas and I are...close.”

Dean nods. He’d noticed the first time Jimmy introduced them, how they finished each other’s sentences, fixed ties and hair, touched shoulders and hands and prepped each others’ coffee if one was running late. “Yeah, I know.”

“Like…_really_ close.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “We fuck, is what he’s saying.” He steps closer and his expression is suddenly open and concerned, eyes searching Dean’s face. “I don’t know what happened, Jimmy just texted to meet you guys here. Are you two...okay? Understand, Dean, we didn’t mean to lie. We just...it’s not-”

Jimmy touches his arm. “Give him a minute, Cas.”

Dean gapes at them. The two of them. The twins who have turned his world upside down, turned him inside out, made him question his sanity and his morality and his whole understanding of the world and relationships and what a person should and can want. The twins who are...together. Biblically.

“Okay. You...holy shit, I need to sit down.” He wanders into the living room, the couch where he and Jimmy have spent many an evening exploring new ways to make each other shiver and gasp. And maybe Jimmy and Cas have done the same, in the same place. Probably haven’t had to, actually. Jesus, how long would they have…

His train of thought goes to static. It’s too much. It’s very too much. 

_Card-carrying adult. Bachelor’s-having adult. _

They come into the living room, jostling together shoulder to shoulder, and he can see that Cas is still confused, that Jimmy is glancing at the couch like he’s wondering if sitting there will be too much.

“Sit down, you’re freaking me out,” Dean finally grumbles. He shifts over and Jimmy sits next to him, not touching. Cas sits in the matching recliner.

“So, then. Do you like...date people together?” He doesn’t know where to look. Who he’s asking.

Jimmy answers. “We haven’t. It tends to weird people out. Or like...it’s a fetish thing, not like...an _us_ thing.”

“Right. Makes sense. Like me. A fetish thing.” And he’d thought it was like that for a while, but he knows, deep down, that they’re hot but that’s not why he wants them. Knows there’s also no way to explain that. No way to make them understand.

“I know that’s not true,” Jimmy says softly. “You tried to end it with me tonight. You didn’t want to.”

Dean shrugged. He could argue. He’s not sure what good it would do.

“What happened, Dean?” It’s Cas this time, he’s moved to the edge of the recliner and he’s leaning in. Concerned.

Dean shrugs. “Look, I just, it’s weird with us, isn’t it? Jimmy and me. Jimmy and you. _You_ and…” He rubs a hand through his hair, scrubs the back of his neck.

“I like you, Dean,” Cas says quietly, and it’s like lightning is making it’s molten way slow-motion across Dean’s skin.

“I didn’t want to fuck it up,” Dean says. “With you.” He glances at Jimmy.

“Can I?” Jimmy offers his hand and Dean takes it. “You didn’t. Fuck it up, I mean. We’ll figure it out.”

* * *

It takes time. Dean and Jimmy play pool, they fuck. They date. They go to shows and dinners and it comes to light that Jimmy doesn’t like bacon, and Dean doesn’t like NoFX. Dean threatens to break it off then and there, and Jimmy shakes his head and pointedly doesn’t mention Taylor Swift.

Cas takes Dean on a date, and then another, and Dean tries not to feel like it’s cheating for him to kiss Cas goodnight, even though Jimmy helped him pick his outfit and giggled when he advised Dean not to fuck til the third date. Dean learns that Cas didn’t talk until he was four, that he has a birthmark shaped like a cross on his lower abdomen, and that his running habit gives him hip cuts that go on for years.

They get together at Jimmy’s apartment once a week to spend time, all three of them, and it feels strange for a while - the brothers are awkward with their affection, glancing over at Dean after every touch as if he’s going to walk out. Dean doesn’t know who he can touch, and when - if they’re touching each other, can he press his palm into the small of Jimmy’s back, run his fingers across the sweet short hairs on the back of Cas’s neck?

It’s awkward until it isn’t, and they end up piled together on the couch, watching Cas’s movie choice, some indie flick about Rufus Sewell being an asshole and then making great music. Dean likes it despite himself and it’s easy to whisper about the music, laugh about the crazy uncle, and to brush away any sort of moisture that springs up when Rufus Sewell finally gets his head out of his ass and remembers what’s important.

Dean ends up with his head pillowed in Jimmy’s lap, rubbing Cas’s leg on Jimmy’s far side, and both their hands in his hair. Cas’s arm is around Jimmy’s shoulders, and Jimmy tips into his brother’s side by the end of the night, and it all feels easy. Hands slide under shirts, warmth turns to sparks when fingers meet skin. Jimmy and Cas kiss, and then Dean sits up and they pull him in and there’s no sense of being extraneous or forgotten. They kiss his neck, their hands meet and twine under his shirt, against his back, and the sensation is impossible to describe.

Dean and Cas usually both go home at the end of these nights, but not this time. They strip each others’ clothes slowly and then pile into Jimmy’s queen size bed and they explore what they already know about each other, and Jimmy shows Dean the spot just inside Cas’s shoulder that drives him crazy, and Cas shows him how Jimmy turns to putty when he’s bitten over his ribs, and Dean kisses Jimmy while Cas sets teeth in Dean’s shoulder and makes him squirm.

Dean knows them, he’s dated them both, and the sex has been fantastic. But the three of them at once exceed the limits of the natural world. They are more together than they were separately, and Dean’s not sure how it’s possible for him to fit in his skin with everything he’s feeling, surrounded and engulfed by these two people he’s beginning to imagine a life with. 

It comes naturally for him to doubt that anyone could care for him this way, but there’s no room for that, here. Not with both of them working him over slowly, whispering endearments and touching every square inch of him with reverence.

* * *

Dean wakes in the morning with Cas’s head pillowed on his chest and Jimmy sprawled on his other side. Sunlight pours low through the window and lights them all softly, like those impressionist paintings Cas had shown him when they went to the museum. He’s filled again to bursting, like it can’t possibly be real, like he’s going to wake any moment and it will all have been a dream.

“Hey,” Cas whispers. “You all right?”

Dean smiles. It’s all impossible, but he’ll take it. “Mmm,” he responds, rubbing Cas’s shoulder and kissing his hair. “So good.” He pulls gently at Jimmy, hoping to free his arm where it’s all pins and needles. 

Jimmy rolls over sleepily and glares at him, then kisses him softly, and Cas, too, before he tucks himself back into Dean’s side and his breathing slows.

Dean smiles. 

_Card-carrying adult._

Maybe this is what it’s really about - making a ‘something’ of yourself that you actually want. That _feels_ right. 

Not giving a fuck.

Yeah, that sounds like him.

**Author's Note:**

> Random note to add that the movie they're watching is At Sachem Farm/Uncorked (depending on what country you're in), with Rufus Sewell and Minnie Driver, and it's one of my very favorite movies in the entire world and I highly recommend it.


End file.
